


Hide Nothing

by April_Valentine



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-10
Updated: 2013-10-10
Packaged: 2017-12-28 23:39:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/998284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/April_Valentine/pseuds/April_Valentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A much needed missing scene from Season 3, episode 2, "Nothing to Hide."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hide Nothing

**Author's Note:**

  * For [esteefee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteefee/gifts), [tiranog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiranog/gifts).



> Hide nothing, for time, which sees all and hears all, exposes all.
> 
> ~ Sophocles

Harold spent the time waiting for Shaw and Reese to return to the safe house cleaning up the mess Bear had made when he tried to attack Kruger. There were bits of his suit, some blood and a broken drawer, along with pieces of the vase he’d hit Harold over the head with. Just looking at them made his head ache harder. He swept up the broken bric a brac and then sat down, holding another bag of ice to the back of his head. 

The spot where the vase had impacted was throbbing, but he was more worried about John’s injury than his own. When he’d heard the shots being fired, his first thought had not been for their number, Kruger, but for John. At that point, all he could think about was his partner. The number… had proven he didn’t take even his own safety seriously and in that instant, it was John Harold was picturing. John, shot. John, down. John dying.

He held his breath to see what played out, listening to the man named Collier talking about his organization, the lesson they’d planned to teach Kruger, the anger they felt toward men like him and the government… Harold had winced at that, certain that if the unnamed organization knew about the Machine they would probably want to go after it and its creator, but even that didn’t register as he listened in vain for the sound of John’s voice. 

Another shot was fired and Harold realized that it was probably Collier killing Kruger, then leaving the scene. 

Finally… finally… he heard John’s voice. “Finch?” he asked, sounding weak and groggy.

“John, are you shot?” he’d asked, already sure of the answer.

“My vest caught it,” Reese grated out, adding, “I think my rib’s broken.”

Harold’s relief was visceral. John had been hit but it wasn’t as serious as it could have been. 

Shaw’s voice came over the link then, reporting that she had found John. Harold had never been so glad for her help. He’d always known that one day John wouldn’t be fast enough, or someone would come up behind him, someone he didn’t expect to be armed and this kind of thing would happen. And Harold would be stuck somewhere too far away to get to him in time. Shaw, however, was on the scene, helping John to his feet.

“I gotta go after Collier,” John was insisting.

“Another time,” Harold told him. He could hear the pain in John’s voice and though he admired John’s bravery, this was not the time to head out after an armed man who had already shown he would shoot someone defenseless. Harold was glad when, for once, John listened. 

Harold loved him so much. 

“We’ll be there in five,” Shaw’s voice came to him. Pulled out of his reverie, Harold got up and retrieved the first aid kit from the kitchen area. 

In moments, the door opened. Harold looked up, glad to see John walking in under his own power, right behind Shaw who had opened the door. He stayed where he was, not wanting to show his feelings openly with Ms. Shaw in the room. 

John was walking stiffly, his right arm held against his side. His face looked pale and his hair was mussed. Still, his expression was carefully bland. 

Shaw hung back as Reese moved toward Harold. “If you guys don’t need anything else…?” 

Harold met John’s eyes. “No, you can go, Ms. Shaw,” Harold told her. 

“See you next time then,” she nodded, turning to leave them alone.

When the door closed behind her, Reese stopped walking. Harold, who hadn’t taken his eyes off him, moved to him immediately. 

“I’m fine,” John said tightly.

“Of course you are,” Harold agreed. “Let’s get you out of the vest and take a look though.”

He reached up to grasp John’s suit jacket lapel, easing it off his right shoulder carefully and noting that John couldn’t quite hide the grimace as he moved. It was easier to slip the jacket off his other shoulder and Harold dropped it over a nearby chair. John was trying to undo his shirt buttons. Harold pushed his hands aside and worked on them himself, unable to stop the memory of the two of them on a rooftop when it had been a ticking bomb beneath John’s shirt.

He saw that the fine fabric of the dress shirt had a hole in it from the bullet. That and the jacket would have to be retired now, Harold thought ruefully, though that was better than retiring John. He was so glad Reese had started wearing his vest most of the time when working. 

Once he’d removed John’s shirt, he turned his attention to the vest itself. He carefully pulled at the Velcro tabs that connected the back of the vest to the front part, noticing John’s wince at the increased pressure on the garment. Finally, he lifted the heavy vest up and off, tossing it aside. 

He found the wound immediately. There was a vivid red lump along John’s ribcage, its center darker and more abraded. He could also clearly see that John’s rib was misshapen under the skin. Harold ghosted his fingers over the wound and John trembled. 

“I’m sorry, Mr. Reese,” he said anxiously. He hadn’t realized he had actually touched the injury. He grasped John’s elbow and led him to a chair at the big table where he’d set out the first aid kit.

He got out some antiseptic and opened a package of gauze. John raised his arm as high as he could so that Harold could clean the wound. 

He held his breath, wanting to be careful as he cleaned the area. He stopped though, noticing that John was still trembling slightly.

“Are you cold?” 

John bit his lip, shrugging slightly. 

“I’ll get the afghan,” Harold said, moving to the couch for his cashmere throw. He returned with it and carefully draped it around John’s shoulders. “There,” he said. “Better?” He didn’t like the paleness of John’s face or the shudders wracking his body.

“Thanks.” John gave a slight nod and seemed to clench his jaw. 

Harold dabbed at the wound quickly, then taped a piece of gauze over it. He could tell John was trying to suppress the tremors that still ran through him. Harold stood and put the antiseptic back in the first aid kit, then looked down at John.

His eyes were closed, his face blank, lips a thin line. 

“You’re really in pain, aren’t you?” Harold asked, half wishing he hadn’t let the words slip out. Before John could answer, he headed toward the kitchen and filled a glass with water. Returning to the main room, he got out the ibuprofen bottle from the first aid kit and shook three pills into his hand. “Take these.” 

John didn’t look up, but listlessly took the offered pills and swallowed them down with the glass of water. He sat holding the empty glass in his left hand, absently twirling it around. 

Harold pulled another chair up close. “John?”

“He killed Kruger.” John said the words without inflection. 

“I know.”

“I thought I’d neutralized the threat. Sommers let me take his gun.”

“John, it’s all right. You couldn’t have known that Collier was a threat.” Harold took the empty glass and sat it aside on the table, then put his hand on John’s shoulder, squeezing gently.

“I should have. We’ve – _I’ve_ gotten sloppy.” John sighed. He looked up at Harold, his eyes miserable. 

“John, we’ve always known we can’t save all of them.” He moved his hand to John’s cheek. He didn’t know what to say. They had done all they could and Kruger hadn’t listened to them, but he knew John would still blame himself. So he did the only thing he could think of, the thing he’d been wanting to do since he’d heard the shots through the phone line. 

He kissed John.

He kept it gentle at first, John seeming almost reluctant. He tried to pull away as if he felt he didn’t deserve the affection. But Harold wrapped his arms around his shoulders tenderly. “It’s all right, John,” he murmured, kissing him again, still gently, but deeper. He stroked his hand through the hair at John’s temple. “Just because we’re happy, it doesn’t mean…”

With a groan, John responded, sliding his tongue into Harold’s mouth. He kissed Harold as if starving for him, the way he kissed him in the middle of the night when they were in bed together. It was awkward, powerful, moving, the two of them sitting on straight backed chairs, leaning toward each other, John hampered by his broken rib and Harold by his stiff neck, but all the same loving and tender. 

John used his left arm to reach for Harold, his hand sliding around the back of his neck. Harold couldn’t help wincing in pain as John touched the sore spot where the vase had hit him.

John broke the kiss. 

“Harold? I asked if you were all right.” He got to his feet, moving to get a better look at the injury.

“I am, John,” Harold sighed. “I was only unconscious for a moment or so.”

“He knocked you out?” John’s fingers were gentle as he investigated the lump that had formed where he’d been hit. “You probably need a doctor.” He leaned down and looked deeply into Harold’s eyes. “At least your pupils are equal.”

“You have a broken rib,” Harold reminded him. “You should see a physician as well.”

“All they would do is ex-ray it,” John said. “They don’t wrap up broken ribs any more.”

“All they would do is tell me to not sleep too long,” Harold retorted. 

They looked at each other, indignation dissipating. John smiled and sat back down. A grimace of pain nearly wiped the expression off his face, but he managed to regain it in a moment. “I’ll make sure to wake you every two hours,” he said. “If I’d known he hit you over the head, I might have shot Kruger myself.”

To Harold’s ears, it was an ‘I love you.’ 

“I’m sure if another number comes in, Ms. Shaw will be only too glad to take care of it while your rib heals.” Harold’s words said ‘I love you’ back to John.

“Let’s go up to bed,” John said. 

Later, when they were comfortable under crisp cool sheets, with Bear on the floor beside the bed, John urged Harold to rest his head on his left shoulder. They’d propped extra pillows against his right side and John had set the alarm on his watch to wake Harold. “I’ll keep my guard up,” John whispered, just as Harold was drifting off to sleep. “I won’t let you down again.”

“You could never let me down.” Harold pressed a kiss to the soft skin on John’s chest.


End file.
